


a shrewd bow

by jestbee



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21864001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jestbee/pseuds/jestbee
Summary: "You're a fucking brat," is the first thing he says.Dan nods. His knees ache, thighs already cramping from how spread they are. "I know."
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 176





	a shrewd bow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queerofcups](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofcups/gifts).



> For the wonderful @queerofcups - Happy Birthday!! 
> 
> A kind of spiritual successor to my fic [bound to obey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14771561), with title inspired by lyrics from the same song Silent Spring by Massive Attack

Dan's worst side is driven crazy by boredom and too much stimulation at the same time. Take him out of the house to an event he doesn't want to be at, and sure enough he'll be running his mouth and getting himself in trouble before the evening is through. 

Tonight, that's exactly what happens.

Phil has had years to learn this particular habit, and Dan has had just as many to learn that although Phil is aware, it doesn't make his patience run any thicker. It isn't often he loses it with Dan, not often that his eyes go cold and his mouth sets in a line and Dan knows that the last thing he said was the thing to push Phil over from mildly irritated, into full-blown angry. 

When it does happen, like now, Dan always knows right away, always tries to make up for it. But once Phil is beyond the point of wanting to deal with Dan's shit, he won't resolve it while they're still in the company of other people. 

"We'll talk about this when we get home," he whispers so that only Dan can hear, something dark and promising in his eyes. 

People like to believe that Phil will never go to bed angry. But actually, that's sometimes his favourite way to go. 

Going home a rigid silence lingers over them both, and Dan's attempts to draw Phil into conversation fail over and over. Phil looks out of the taxi window, three fingers pressed to his lips, and Dan stares helplessly at his profile and plots how to make this all better. 

Phil is a quiet, slow-burning arguer. There is no burst of anger as they walk through the door, no surge of combat that Dan can defend himself against, or acquiesce to. Instead, Phil doesn't say a word to Dan, just goes to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.

"Phil…" Dan says, but it's hopeless.

The only thing for it is for Dan to strip out of his perfectly nice clothes. To bare himself, vulnerable and exposed, kneeling on their living room floor. And wait. 

His open palms curl on the wooden floor, already flushing red down his chest. He doesn't get hard, because he isn't completely sure that Phil will accept this as a way to resolve their fight. And even if he does, Dan might not be allowed to anyway.

Phil reappears a few minutes later, a single mug in his hand. He didn't make a drink for Dan, even though he always makes a drink for Dan. When he catches sight of him on the floor, Phil doesn't even flinch, doesn't raise an eyebrow or seem surprised at all. 

Like he expected it.

"You're a fucking brat," is the first thing he says. 

Dan nods. His knees ache, thighs already cramping from how spread they are. "I know." 

He thinks, just for a second, that Phil isn't going to come to him, and he shivers under his far-off gaze. But that's part of it. Phil likes to make him wait and while Dan won't admit it, there is something for him in the waiting too, riding out his own impatience. 

Dan is eager. Eager to have their fight be over, to be forgiven, but also to get what he wants. Phil is the one who likes to remind him that the satisfaction is nothing without earning it. 

"This is how you want to do this?" Phil asks. 

Dan looks up. His face already feels hot, because even in the face of a bare apology Phil will ask him, never simply take.

"Yes," Dan says. 

Phil makes it across the room in half a dozen strides, abandoning the coffee on the dining table as he goes. He glares down at Dan, eyes fixed and clear, and then his hand is hard in Dan's hair. A bright prickle of pain flits across Dan's scalp when Phil tugs, sharply.

"Go on then." 

If this were any other time, Dan might put up a bit of a fight. He might take his time easing Phil's cock from his underwear, draw it out until Phil snaps. But today Phil is already well beyond that, hands firmer than usual, a little angry. 

Even the pretend danger in that is enough to make Dan go easily to it. To use swift, precise movements and sink his mouth down around Phil all willing, wet and slack. 

Phil isn't hard yet. He's slow to that too, making Dan work for it with diligent long sucks, the swirl of his tongue against the folds of his foreskin. Until he starts to feel him thicken, to grow against the corners of Dan's mouth so that Dan has to adjust to accommodate him.

Dan looks up through his lashes, knowing his face will be a picture. Cheekbones and jaw tipped with pink, lips already starting to go puffy as Phil keeps a firm grip on his curls. 

Phil groans, low and still a bit pissed off with him, snapping his hips until he hits the back of Dan's throat and Dan makes a choked, whimpering kind of sound. He doesn't do it on purpose, but he's smug knowing that it's what Phil wants, because there is something primal that drives him when Dan is wanton and pliant, and as stubborn and immoveable as Dan can be, he wants it just as much. 

"I think you pick fights on purpose," Phil says. Dan is lapping at his slit, hand cupped around his balls. Phil breathes through his nose, a muscle in his thigh twitches. "I think you like when I make you behave." 

Dan shrugs, still tonguing Phil's cock, saliva running down the shaft to meet his fingers. It's messy and it appears like it's all uncoordinated and random, because Dan knows that Phil likes that, likes him a bit sloppy. And that's the point of all this, isn't it? Giving Phil what he likes. 

Phil pulls on Dan's hair, easing his head backwards. It's not rough, but the movement is quicker than Dan expected and he jerks, mouth sliding from Phil's cock, a whoosh of air escaping him. 

"Is this an apology?" Phil asks. 

He doesn't break eye contact with Dan, still standing over him. He's spread his legs just a bit, straining the waistband of his fancy trousers at half mast around his thighs. There's something wickedly indecent about Phil being fully clothed while Dan is naked. Something delicious in Dan running his hands over the slightly scratchy material of them, letting it catch on his palms. 

Dan hums, and Phil tugs his hair again to bring his attention back. Dan is getting lost in his purpose, so easily distracted when such important pieces of Phil are on display. 

"Daniel," Phil says, curtly. 

Dan looks up, blinking. Phil is razor bright, his face just a little flushed, cock hard and shiny, curving up towards his belly, precum leaving a smear on the hem of his new shirt. Dan likes that, likes the evidence that Phil is just as affected as him, messy and unravelling. 

"I really am sorry," Dan says. 

Phil lets go of Dan's hair and takes his own cock in his hand. He thrusts into the circle of his fingers a few times while Dan watches, mouth watering. This is an apology, and service, and also a bit of punishment maybe, if Phil wants it to be. 

"We'll see." Phil continues to stroke himself, using his other hand to undo the top button of his shirt so that his throat is bare. 

Dan wants to sink his teeth into it. 

"I'm going to get comfortable." 

Dan chases him, still on his knees. They're a ruddy pink now, irritated from being pressed so long against the hard floor, but the dull ache of it just adds to the whole thing. A painted reminder that he isn't the one calling the shots. 

Phil settles himself on the sofa, cock still in his hand, and Dan situates himself by his feet. While Phil continues to touch himself, Dan tips forward on hands and knees and opens his mouth on the hot skin of Phil's balls. 

He tastes stronger here, a little salty, a tang of his body heat and arousal. Phil sighs, and shifts his foot so that it's pressing barely-there against Dan's now rock-hard erection. Dan bucks. He slides his dick along the silky material of Phil's dress socks, reminding him once against that Phil is still mostly dressed and he is decidedly not. 

Phil presses his foot a little harder, and Dan groans with a mixture of relief and a twinge of pain. The kind of pain he likes, an acute spike that gives way to something throbbing that fills his cock and punches the air out of him. 

He noses up the shaft of Phil's cock, up over the bumps of Phil's knuckles, dragging his tongue and teeth. When he reaches the sensitive head, lapping as him like he can't get enough of the taste, Phil feeds his cock back between Dan's lips and makes a deep, throaty sound as Dan sinks back down around him. He pushes his leg up to give Dan something to writhe against, and Dan swallows him down with zealous while he pushes his cock against him over and over again. 

He must be leaving a sticky trail across Phil's fancy socks, and he's working Phil over using all of the tricks that he knows. Phil's head is thrown back against the couch, and he's slumped down to allow Dan's body to thrust against him. He's chanting a throaty _'yeah yeah'_ in a gravelly way that lets Dan know that he's close. 

Dan double down on his efforts, relaxing his throat and breathing through his nose so that he can take Phil in deeper. He doesn't choke this time because he's expecting it, but it's not like he's got any porn star tricks to pull out. Phil makes a loud moaning sound as he brushes the soft back of Dan's throat, though clearly more from the idea of it than the sensation. 

There is spit on Dan's chin, his jaw aches from the tight, warm channel he's making with his mouth for Phil to fuck into. He is nothing, in this moment, but a wet place for Phil to put his cock and that has been the endgame for all of this. 

The knowledge that Phil is lost. Is using Dan for his own ends just the littlest bit, has Dan snapping his hips and grinding his cock against any part of Phil he can reach. 

"You… uh, you're really… _fuck_ ," Phil babbles. His hand is back in Dan's hair on the crown of his head. He isn't pushing him down, but he is holding Dan in place just a bit so that he can push his cock in and out, dragging against his bottom lip with every thrust. "You really are sorry." 

Dan attempts a noise of agreement around the slick slide. He holds his mouth still, flattens his tongue and makes himself the perfect recipient for the way Phil's movements have become erratic, the muscles in his thighs tensing. 

When Phil's orgasm hits, he doesn't warn him. He doesn't tap Dan on the head, or use his words, he doesn't even attempt to pull away. He simply rests his hand on the crown of Dan's head and empties himself onto Dan's tongue. 

Dan, for his part, swallows without pulling off, savours the taste of it, bitter and tangy though it is, and sucks Phil through the final aftershocks. When Phil slumps back, untangling his hand from Dan's hair, he breathes heavily, chest heaving, and closes his eyes. 

Dan is still on all fours, still presses against Phil's foot, half up his leg, humping against barely anything. 

"Phil," he breathes, half desperate, half begging, "Please." 

For another awful second, Dan thinks that Phil won't respond to him. He thinks perhaps that he hasn't earned the forgiveness he was seeking and that this has been about punishment after all. 

And maybe he deserves it. He just hopes that Phil won't drag it out for too long. 

It's a testament to how scrambled his brain is that it doesn't occur to him to use his own hand for a few seconds of useless thrusting. When it finally hits him, he scrambles to sit back on his heels, wrapping a hand around himself, sticky with his own spit and sliding through the precum gathered on his cock. 

"Ah," he grunts, over and over, until Phil's hand snakes around his wrist and pulls him away. "Fuck." 

He blinks up to see Phil has slid from the couch to join him on the floor. He's pulled his trousers back up and is holding Dan's cock warm in his hand, unmoving. 

"Please, Phil," Dan repeats, still just as pathetic and gasping as he was before. 

"Are you sorry?" Phil says. 

" _Yes._ "

Phil is good. He is good and merciful and brilliant, and he begins to move his hand along the length of Dan. It's torturously slow, and the glint in Phil's eye is just a little bit gleeful in it. 

"I'm so sorry," Dan babbles, "Sorry, sorry, sorry." 

"Good," Phil says.

Phil dips his head to press his mouth and tongue against the pulsepoint in Dan's neck, and Dan drops his head against Phil's shoulder, hips moving with the rhythmic slide of Phil's hand. He does finally begin to speed up, to give in to the way Dan is panting wet heat against his collar. 

Dan turns his head and the scent of Phil's cologne hits him in the nose, gathered against the warm skin of his neck. He pushes his face into it, to the loose collar of his fancy shirt, presses naked and dripping against all of Phil's posh clothes. 

It's that, more than anything, the stark contrast between how put-together Phil is and how bared and cowed Dan has made himself for him, that pushes him right to the brink. 

"I—" Dan says, barely a word at all, but he doesn't need to say anything. 

"You know you don't deserve to come, right?" Phil says. 

Dan whimpers, and nods against Phil's neck. "I know. I'm sorry." 

"You're a brat," Phil repeats, same as before. 

"I am." 

Phil squeezes his hand on the upstroke, grips so that the head of Dan's cock has to squeeze through. Dan is hovering right there on the edge of something, but he can't let himself tumble over into it until Phil says. 

"I forgive you," Phil says, perfectly seriously, and Dan groans with relief. "Come then." 

Dan, just as he has every other part of this entire venture, obeys Phil's command. He sucks in a harsh breath, holding it tight in his chest as he shakes and pulses in Phil's hand. His orgasm rips through him, spilling wet and sticky over Phil's fist and splattering against all of Phil's beautiful clothes. Phil doesn't seem to care at all. He works Dan through it with a steady, practised hand and Dan has never been more thankful for it. 

When he comes down he is cradled against Phil's chest, a gentle hand in the back of his hair. He hopes that it isn't the one he just came in, but finds that he doesn't care enough to actually move if it is. 

"God," Dan says, into the fabric of Phil's shirt. 

"Hmm." 

He peels himself away. They are both a mess, breathing just a touch harder than they would be usually, flushed and heavy-lidded. 

"I was a dick earlier," Dan says. 

"You were." 

"I'm sorry." 

Phil still has a hand in his hair, and he drops it down to the nape of his neck, squeezing gently. He brings their mouths together, fitting like they always do. It's brief, but deep, and when he pulls away he only goes far enough to push his forehead against Dan's and sigh. 

"I forgive you," he says, again. 

Then it's over. Dan can lever them up off the floor and laugh at his own pink knees while Phil bitches and moans about being too old to be fucking on the floor. Dan doesn't remind him that it had been perfectly within his power to move them if he'd wanted to. He simply follows Phil to the shower, where they spread warm suds across their bodies and wash away the remains of the night. And then to bed, climbing between soft sheets that already smell like them just the faintest amount. 

When Phil throws and arm over him, head on Dan's shoulder blade, Dan pushes back into his embrace, and follows him into sleep.


End file.
